Apollo
by Abraham Pineiro
Summary: The story of a space captain and his crew. Quick witty and gritty, this story is for those who like smart, educated and feasible science fiction. Fast-paced action scenes followed by mystery and intrigue. Just what I would like to read. (Contains some graphic imagery, if you don't like actual science behind injuries, blood and such then beware!) THIS IS AN AVALON FANFICTION
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

If somebody were to ask you, what is speed? What would you say? Is it simply a measure of distance over time? A magnitude of velocity? Or is it something more? For us, speed is more than a number, it is a state of being. Speed is a shock to the soul. Speed is a call to action. Speed fills the void that hollows every one of us. It's our drug, we need it, we push it faster and harder until we can fill that quickly depleting void that consumes us. This need for it is what makes us the best damn pilots in the universe, and we know it. It takes a special kind of stupid to break the barrier of sound (760 mph) two feet of the ground, and then to push it even faster. It takes a special kind of lunatic to try a ninety degree vertical turn without slowing down. We know the risks, that's why we love what we do, and that's why there so few of us. And now there will be one less.

The sun is right above us, burning whatever moisture was left of the night freeze. It is hot and dry, no wind and no flora or fauna. It is the perfect weather for an atmos race. I move up to the glass house, I jump into my ship and perform last minute checks. It is called the glass house because the engine's' exhaust is so hot that it melts all the sand into glass, I try to avoid and think about what the heat would do to my body. "Welcome." A computer generated female voice greets me as I turn on the plasma engines. I quickly check the state of the engines, the data seems to be alright so I move on to the fuel and coolant. The fuel gage is at max, so is the nitro-hydrant based liquid coolant. The engine is completely surrounded by a thin membrane coated with the liquid coolant to allow rapid and effective heat dispersion. Everything seems to be in order with the ship. I'm running low on time so I proceed with the suit check. I look around my F32-C racing standard compression suit. No tears in the suit, not even a scratch on the helmet visor. I put on the helmet and turn on the life assist, the rush of pure oxygen wakes me up and reminds me of what I am about to do. Adrenaline rushes to my head making all the colors around me even brighter and sharper. The sun is still above us, anticipating the race. I grip the control column and force myself to calm down. When you go this fast you can't risk making any mistakes. One millimeter off and you could end your career as a large ball of flames. I turn on the comms and hear the gratifying click of the helmet's interface coming to life.

"The race starts in 5" I'm on time, and this may just be the race to fill my void. I look to my left and see a couple pilots rushing to their ships, stragglers are common but it is a dangerous practice. A young female voice booms inside my helmet "See you at the finish line!", she sounds familiar but I can't place the voice with a name. "Stay in your own comms, the race is about to start", I answer back. "You are no fun!", and then I hear the beep of somebody switching their channel. I lift the ship to the standard ten feet above the ground standard position, there is no turning back now. Too many people have put too much money on this race for one of us to quit. A countdown appears on the corner of my helmets HUD, thirty seconds and counting down. Anxiety starts to grip me, did I miss something? Did i forget to check the engines? No, I checked just ten minutes ago. The tension begins to grip me, making my muscles solid as I start to panic. I know what will happen if I don't relax so I start to breath slow, controlled long breaths. "Race starts in five", this time I'm focused, prepared for the explosion of speed about to happen. "One, Go!", I step on the accelerator and I lean back on my chair. The force of going from zero to 400 in less than one second could be enough to knock somebody out if they weren't wearing the compression suits. I focus on the dunes ahead of me and prepare for the launch, the explosion of breaking Mach 1. The few seconds of tranquility before the storm of explosions from all the ships breaking the barrier of sound is one of the most stressful moments a racer will ever experience, one degree off and you could tear your ship apart. "You can run", a male voice says in my intercom "as fast you can. But you cannot hide from us". Fear starts to crawl inside of me as I realize something is wrong.

Who was that? What do they mean? But all these thoughts disappear as I feel the shudder of a small internal explosion near where the regulator is located. The regulator that prevents the ship from going faster than it can take, obviously it's overclocked, but if it stops functioning altogether who knows what could happen. Suddenly I realize what will happen, the launch is about to occur and I brace for the impact. My ship boosts forward as it becomes surrounded by a cloud of mist as it enters the speed of sound, but the ship doesn't stop there. Panic burst on my face as I realize that I can't stop the acceleration of the ship. "Good bye", the male voice whispers in my ear as I realize this is going to be my last race. The regulator is what manages the acceleration and deceleration connect to the controls, which means the ship will continue to accelerate without my control. The ship is nearing Mach 2 (1521 mph), and it begins to rattle violently as the fuselage begins to rip apart. Another internal explosion tears a hole through the plasmium fuselage, jerks the ship to the right while the ship keeps accelerating. The ship is going so fast that the atmosphere in front of the nose begins to compress rapidly, igniting the air and heating up the engine.

The coolant can't handle the increased temperature and the engine reaches critical. Then the cockpit window is covered in smoke and flames as the nose of the ship touches the ground and disintegrates into molten scrap. The sudden stop sends me flying towards the the carbon double plated plexiglass designed to protect the interior from the harshness of space. The safety harness rips from the seat and I raise my arms to brace for the impact. My right arm breaks through the glass, and it overwhelms my entire nervous system with pain as it shatters with the glass. A small explosion near the left side of the cockpit sends a mixture of shrapnel and engine coolant into my leg. Sharp pain like that of a thousand needles takes hold as the coolant enters in contact with the open wound created by the shrapnel. Then just as quick as the pain came it's gone, as the coolant destroys any nerve that it came in contact with. I am launched out from my ship at a blinding speed, the protection of the ship is gone and the G's from reaching terminal velocity send blood into my eyes turning my vision red. I crash into the sand, my visor shatters and I skid on the surface of the planet. I can't feel my right arm, as it is no longer attached to my body, but my guess is that the suit is keeping it in place.

Warm wet blood starts seeping up my pant leg, it is sticky and hot. The blood is oozing out slowly and consistently, so no arteries have been ruptured. As the adrenaline of the accident starts to wear off I begin to feel a sensation of paranoia mixed in with anxiety, something is wrong. I close my eyes shut and force myself to breath, these are the symptoms of bleeding out. I have lost enough blood to enter into the first stages, this means I'm running out of time and I need to apply pressure into the wound. I make some quick assumptions as I'm laying down on the floor, at the rate that I'm bleeding out it should take at the very least a couple hours before it becomes fatal. That means I need to focus on moving as little as possible, trying to prevent any extra pressure from pumping out more blood. I try to think about what happened. I can't quite picture what just happened. It's all shifting into one large blur. There was a voice. It was talking to me. Damn, I forgot about my shoulder. I was too busy worrying about my leg that I hadn't realized that my arm is no longer attached to my shoulder, which means that I'm losing even more blood that I anticipated. I lift my left arm, slowly and painfully, and reach for my shoulder. All suits come with a size adjuster for all of the joints, none are located above my leg wound, but I can at least stop the blood coming from my shoulder. I press the override and force my shoulder adjuster to shut completely. The pain sends needles all the way up my spine and into my eyes as the suit puts pressure directly on the open wound, rubbing the bone and muscle still attached to my body.

This just bought me a couple more minutes until the emergency vehicles arrive, they can't be more than two minutes away. I steal a look over my shoulder and see the crash site of my ship. It is unrecognizable, not even worth scrapping. There are lots of small fires all over the ship, liquid coolant is being pumped out sporadically and there is a trail of blood on the sand from where I crashed. I look right in front and I'm stunned to see a ship approaching. My vision is slowly disappearing into a lifeless black and white world devoid of color, I've lost too much blood. The ship is too blurry to make out the model number, manufacturer or what kind of ship it is. As it lands a figure comes out and approaches me, panic starts to sink in my impending doom as I realize that this isn't a medical ship. A pair of brown leather boots, clean and shiny except for the traces of dust from the sand near the bottom of the boots, stop right in front of my face. "It is a shame isn't it", a familiar voice i can't quite pin down with the drowsiness that has taken over me. "You just don't die don't you", the right boot swings back and comes crashing down on my face forcing me into a kneeling position. The momentum of the kick strong enough to send my helmet flying and to lift my upper body. The pain, if there is any, coming from my leg and arm is overcome by the blood coming down from my forehead. I must have hit my head hard, hard enough to shatter the helmet from the inside and have it cut the skin on my head. I am too tired to move, I just want to sleep. I begin to close my eyes as I near the last stages of bleeding out, unconsciousness and death. The brown blur in front of me pulls out a silver colored smaller blur, aims it at my head and whispers. "You never escape Paragon", and the world goes dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The low hum of engines running is a soothing, yet slightly unnerving, unmistakable sound. Cold sweat clings to my body as I will my heart to stop pumping so loudly, the sound of blood rushing in my ears is deafening. Pain shoots up from my right arm in waves, reminding me that I was finally in reality. I peel the sheets off my body and throw them as far away as I possibly could. Cold rushes in as the breeze from the air conditioning finally lands on me. I close my eyes and swing my legs over the bed with practiced precision from months of doing the same ritual. A soft tap and then a louder, but still faint, thump of metal hitting metal. I walk to the bathroom attached to my room and slamm the door shut. The door had done nothing to deserve such treatment, but I'm in the mood of just hitting things as they approach me. I look into the screen placed above the sink and sigh as I open the tap and wash my face. Still dripping from the wash I said "Reflection" and the screen once black blinks to existence showing my reflection. A pale face, typical of those that live most of their lives in space, with a matching torso and arm. Athletic, fit and strong, not that I had a choice about it. On one side of my upper body there is a black synthetic skin-like fabric that coveres half of my right pectoral and drops all the way down to to the side of my abdomen, which then proceeds to loop back around my shoulder plate. The synthetic skin feels like skin but was absolutely black and contrasts with the white prosthesis attached. The second skin is there to ensure the nerve endings of my natural bodyconnect the wires to the prosthesis.

Too vivid to be a dream. Too scary to be a nightmare. I still can't remember if it was a memory, but it justifies the mechanized arm that is gripping the metal sink right in front of me. I look away from the arm and raise my vision to the face looking back at me. A perfectly defined jaw-line that terminates on a chin that couldn't make its mind if it was cleft or not. Above the chin is a pair of lips that rarely smiles, but not because of any emotional sadness, they just like to move as little as possible. The laziness of the lips fits the personality of the wearer, a man truly of little words. The nose is slightly bent to the right as it reaches the tip, it wasn't because of some previous injury, it was just a genetic thing. The cheeks may have been covered by freckles at some point, but by now they seemed like a distant memory fading away. The eyes are a different story, undecided and quite temperamental in regards to their color. They are gray, or green, or blue depending on what light they were in. They seem tired, as if they had experienced too much, seen too much. Above those eyes are brown eyebrows that had a hint of blond when in contact with light. And to top it all was a tuft of dirty blonde hair no longer than two inches. The sides are cut short to a one, an old habit that gives away the fact he is (or used to be) an atmos racer. Long hair would cover the ears and become uncomfortable when wearing a helmet, which would look quite flat and unflattering after said helmet was removed. This style of hair is a classic look that all atmos racers sport, no matter the gender. Hair was important, many racers tended to dye their hair different bright colors to match their ships or teams. On the sides of his head is a pair of ears that are just plain old normal ears. The lobes aren't attached and they are neither large nor small. But those ears did hear many things. While the lips were lazily resting on each other, the ears were working hard trying to gather as much information as they possibly could. The face could have belong to anyone, but this time it belongs to me. I've been told I was handsome, but I have little interest in those matters since they brought near to no profit.

Profit was the reason I was in this mess. One botched job and I ended up here. "Good morning!" a gravely voice originating from the screen wakes me up as a burly man appears pictured on it, "today you walk, don't get too comfortable and get yourself down to the office." I'm in solitary, not because of bad behavior, but because of my plasmium prosthetic. They were afraid that if I was held in any other cell I would just punch a hole through the wall and walk out, which wouldn't be a very good idea since I'm stuck in an orbital prison cell. One misfire, one malfunction and another shot. I hate it when plans don't work out. "My six months are up then.", not a question but a statement, which seems to annoy the guard. "Just hurry up and get out", and with those as the last words the screen shuts down and I put on the white jumpsuit that prisoners of this station wear. I got lucky, I pulled a couple strings and favors and had my sentenced cut to only six months. "I never even intended to shoot the guy," I sighed, " I'll have some explaining to do with the crew then." I move down to the office area where I was to receive my belongings. The same burly man from the screen is there to do the honors. "Ha, ha, ha! There he is, in the flesh!" he is loud and I'm not very fond of that. "Here you go, one dark olive green zip-up jacket, one pair of plain black boots, one pair of brown fitted army cargo pants, one gray plain long-sleeved shirt, one LH-86 ballistic pistol with twelve out of thirteen bullets, and finally one set of keys." I take everything and head for the fitting room, or closet depending on who you asked. After I finally get dressed I walk to the main entrance and docking area of the station and I see... her.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

There she is. Standing casually, leaning forward on the railing as if she didn't have a care in the world. She is pretty with those big gray eyes that seemed almost colorless and that long brown curly hair floated just below her shoulders. She had a straight short nose that rounded near the tip with a ring on her left nostril, which gives her the look of a mischievous little girl (although she is just my age). She has a round face that seemed to beam with innocence, she seems like someone that would never betray you, perfect to lure a mark into a false sense of confidence. She is wearing red lipstick and some basic make-up, which she didn't really need since she was dazzling even without it. She's curvy, athletic, strong and has muscle in just the right places. She's wearing her classic blue and black blouse of the medical corp, but this one wasn't regulation standard. The sleeves dropped just below her shoulder and it was hang in place by some black leather straps that fit right on her trapezius. The shirt was tight and somewhat revealing, made out of synthetic silk (actual silk was too expensive a commodity) and the black and blue was separated by gold trims. Did i mention it was tight? Specially around the breasts, which were a generous 36 DD. She is also wearing some dark gray leggings woven with plastoid that gave the look of leather pants, they maintained the freedom of leggings but with the added protection of plastoid armor. She has a brown leather belt with a red stone encrusted in the center of a golden buckle. My guess is that the belt is (or was at some point) very important to her, but it could also be priceless. She's also wearing long black leather boots that ended just below the knees and folded down. The boots are rugged with use and had steel plating at the tip. Dangerous yet beautiful, I feared for my life whenever I saw her. She is short, her head ending just barely below my chin, but she packed a lot of punch -sometimes even literally- I approach her and start to speak, "Bell-" I'm greeted with a punch to the chin, which knocks me off my feet and I land on the hard, cold metal floor. Cold and hard just like her. "What the hell do you think you are doing, Captain!?" she sounds more worried than irritated, "You disappear for months, the crew and I were going insane with worry, and then I get a call from someone in Echelon saying you are about to be released from prison. Prison!" I should have seen this coming, the punch hadn't hurt and she knew it. "I know I have some explaining to do, but I'm your captain and you will refrain from punching me without my knowledge." I see her blush a bit, but she keeps her composure and begins to lead me towards the airlock connecting to my ship.

We approach Airlock A1-13, where I assume my ship is docked. I grab hold of her shoulder and force her to look at me, "Before we enter I need to know a few things." Her gray eyes fixate on mine, scanning to see if she can find my intentions. "Are all the crew accounted for, did you contact Knox and is there any non-synth food in there?" The last question is more for me, prison only fed us synthetic flavorless paste. "The entire… Sorry, the crew is accounted for." I saw the guilt cross her eyes, "It's not your fault, it's no ones fault, that was an accident and you know it." It hurts to talk about but it is important that I don't show any pain to my crew members. "I know, sorry about that captain. Knox contacted us and told us everything will be okay, we did some low risk missions just to pass the time. To answer your final question, we only have apples." It makes sense that Echelon would want us to continue doing missions, but those apples are sounding really good. "One more thing, Bellona." I only live by two rules, no names and no inter-crew dating. Names carry power and it is extremely difficult to snitch if you can't identify your targets name. Dating between the crew was a rule created after I tried going out with Bellona, it became awkward quick and we both decided it was a better idea to cut it early. There is still some sexual tension between us, but nothing the crew can't handle. There was also another reason, but the memory was too painful to bring up again. "I need you to check my arm and leg. My arm got shot before I got hauled, and my leg needs maintenance." She is our onboard medic and prosthesis specialist, and she is also the one that gave me my new arm and leg. "Hmph!" She not only sounds frustrated but also worried, "Is that how you got into this mess?" I don't like repeating myself, "I'll tell you all at the same time." I was ready to face the crew, and to explain exactly how all of this happened.

There it is, the door to the Merchantman. She was the epitome of cargo ships, years of perfecting the art of running blockades had been fused with the ability to outrun and outgun most ships in existence. She looked normal to the untrained eye, but for someone who knew what to look for the signs were as clear as day. The dorsal "shark" fin on the top near the rear of the ship concealed a pair rotating ballistic turret. The turret is capable of shredding other ships like tissue paper, and if they used kinetic shields, they would be overwhelmed in under ten shots. On the fore of the ship there is another pair of concealed ballistic turrets, able to pass unnoticed by any radar or physical check. All the turrets could be used simultaneously from the control column on the pilot's station on the bridge, but there are dedicated gunner stations that could use the pairs simultaneously or split the control so that all the guns fired independently of each other. From above it looked like a falcon flying backwards, with an additional head at its tail. The ship was in landing position, meaning the the the lower vertical stabilizer was pulled up close to the cargo hold of the ship. The stabilizer would drop down while in flight mode, giving the look of a large beak about to eat something (or someone). The main engine is large and powerful, there is another smaller engine just behind the front landing gear used for vertical take-offs, and there are many more small engines that allow the ship to move freely through space. The shell of the ship is metalic, and plain with only some safety lights that glow yellow to indicate when it was landing. All along the neck of the ship are metal gratings to allow the ship to exhaust as much as possible. The entrance is right below the main engine, it has a drop stairwell that led to an elevator that would take you to all the different layers of the ship (perfect for inviting wealthy guests aboard). The uppermost part of the ship was covered in radar dispersing metal that gives it the look of a skeletal spine. She is a bird of prey alright, and she is all mine. Grey and gold was the theme of the ship when it was first made, from the outside shell and lighting, to the inside's metal, furniture and glass. It hadn't been my choice, but it is too expensive to repaint and to refurnish.

Finally the door hisses open and reveals the interior of the ship to the world.


End file.
